CHAPTER XXV. SMITH INSTITUTE GROWS UNPOPULAR
Hector lost no time in drawing up a statement of the facts connected with the loss of the wallet, which he got Wilkins and Ben Platt to sign. This he put into an envelope directed to Allan Roscoe, accompanied by a brief note, which I subjoin:
“MR. ROSCOE: I send you a statement, signed by two of my schoolmates, showing that the charge which Mr. Smith was in such a hurry to bring against me, in order to screen his nephew, who is the real thief, is wholly unfounded. I am not particularly surprised that you were ready to believe it, nor do I care enough for your good opinion to worry. I consider that it is due to myself, however, to prove to you that I have done nothing of which I need be ashamed. Finding the scholars here in terror of a bully, who imposed upon his schoolfellows with impunity because, being the principal’s nephew, he was protected in so doing, I taught him a lesson which may not do him good, but has certainly been of benefit to his fellow-pupils. In so doing, I have incurred his enmity, and that of his uncle, who, for more than one reason, is utterly unfit to conduct a school of this kind.
“You threaten to remove me from school at the end of this term. I do not wish to remain, and shall remove myself at the end of this week. I shall not look to you for support, nor do I expect again to depend upon the estate to which I once thought myself the heir, unless I should be able to prove that I am the son of your brother, as I fully believe, notwithstanding the letter you exhibit.”
“HECTOR ROSCOE.”
When Mr. Allan Roscoe received this letter he was very much disturbed. As he had no affection for Hector, and did not care what became of him, this may, perhaps, excite surprise. Could it be the last sentence which excited his alarm?
“Is that letter from Hector?” asked Guy, who had noticed the postmark as it lay upon his father’s table.
“Yes,” answered Allan Roscoe.
“Does he try to explain his theft?” asked Guy.
“He says he had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, of course!” sneered Guy. “You don’t believe it, do you?”
“He sends a statement of two of the pupils to the effect that the wallet was taken by another pupil, a nephew of the principal.”
“That’s too thin!”
“I don’t know. It may be true. I don’t like the boy, but I hardly think it probable he would steal.”
“You think better of him than I do. I suppose he wants to get into your good graces again?”
“No; he says he shall leave school at the end of this week, and will not again look to me for support.”
“That’s jolly!” exclaimed Guy, much pleased. “You’re well rid of him, papa. Let him go away and make a living as he can. He’ll have to turn newsboy, or something of that sort—perhaps he’ll have to be a bootblack. Wouldn’t that be a good come down for a boy like Hector?”
Guy spoke with great glee, but his father did not seem to enjoy his release as well as Guy. He showed that he understood the boy better when he said:
“Hector will not have to resort to any such employment. He has a good education, and he can get some decent position, probably. On the whole, I am sorry he is going to leave my protection, for friends of the family may, perhaps, blame me.”
“But it isn’t your fault, papa. He is taking his own course.”
“To be sure. You are right there!”
Mr. Roscoe thought so much on the subject, however, that the next day he went to Smith Institute to see Hector, without telling Guy where he was going.
Arrived there, he asked to see Mr. Smith.
The latter did not appear to be in a happy frame of mind.
“How do you do, Mr. Roscoe?” he said.
“Very well,” answered Mr. Roscoe, briefly. “Mr. Smith, I wish to see my ward.”
“I am sorry you cannot see him, Mr. Roscoe.”
“Cannot see him! Why not?”
“Because he has left the institute.”
Allan Roscoe frowned.
“Why has he left?” he asked.
“He has left against my will. I think he has been influenced by an usher in my employ who has behaved very ungratefully. I took him, sir, when he was in danger of starving, and now he leaves me at a day’s notice, after doing all he can to break up my school.”
“I feel no particular interest in your usher,” said Allan Roscoe, coldly. “I wish to obtain information about the boy I placed under your charge. Do you know where he has gone?”
“No; he did not tell me,” answered the principal.
“You wrote me that he had been detected in stealing a wallet!”
“Yes,” answered Socrates, embarrassed. “Appearances were very much against him.”
“Do you still think he took it?”
“I may have been mistaken,” answered Mr. Smith, nervously, for he began to see that the course he had been pursuing was a very unwise one.
“Hector has written me, inclosing a statement signed by two of his schoolfellows, implicating your own nephew, and he charges that you made the charge against him out of partiality for the same.”
“There is considerable prejudice against my nephew,” said Socrates.
“And for very good reasons, I should judge,” said Allan Roscoe, severely. “Hector describes him as an outrageous bully and tyrant. I am surprised, Mr. Smith, that you should have taken his part.”
Now, Socrates had already had a stormy interview with his nephew. Though partial to Jim, and not caring whether or not he bullied the other boys, as soon as he came to see that Jim’s presence was endangering the school, he reprimanded him severely. He cared more for himself—for number one—than for anyone else in the universe. He had been exceedingly disturbed by receiving letters from the fathers of Wilkins and Ben Platt, and two other fathers, giving notice that they should remove their sons at the end of the term, and demanding, in the meantime, that his nephew should be sent away forthwith.
And now Allan Roscoe, whom he had hoped would side with him, had also turned against him. Then he had lost the services of a competent usher, whom he got cheaper than he could secure any suitable successor, and, altogether, things seemed all going against him.
Moreover, Jim, who had been the occasion of all the trouble, had answered him impudently, and Socrates felt that he had been badly used. As to his own agency in the matter, he did not give much thought to that.
“My nephew is going to leave the school, Mr. Roscoe,” said Socrates, half-apologetically.
“I should think it was full time, Mr. Smith.”
“Perhaps so,” said Smith; “but if I have stood by him, it has been in ignorance. I cannot think him as wrong as your ward has probably represented. Hector was jealous of him.”
“Of his scholarship, I presume?”
“Well, no,” answered the principal, reluctantly, “but of his physical superiority, and—and influence in the school. I may say, in fact, Mr. Roscoe, that till your ward entered the school it was a happy and harmonious family. His coming stirred up strife and discontent, and I consider him primarily responsible for all the trouble that has occurred.”
“I don’t defend Hector Roscoe,” said Allan, “but he writes me that your nephew was a bully, who imposed upon his schoolfellows, and that he, by taking their part and stopping this tyranny, incurred his ill-will and yours.”
“I supposed I should be misrepresented,” said Socrates, meekly. “I am devoted to my school and my pupils, Mr. Roscoe. I am wearing out my life in their service. I may make mistakes sometimes, but my heart—my heart, Mr. Roscoe,” continued Socrates, tapping his waistcoat, “is right, and acquits me of any intentional injustice.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Smith,” said Allan Roscoe, stiffly. “As Hector has left you, I have only to settle your bill, and bid you good-day.”
“Will you not exert your influence to persuade the boy to return?” pleaded Socrates.
“As I don’t know where he is, I don’t see how I can,” said Allan Roscoe, dryly.
“That man is an arch hypocrite!” he said to himself, as he was returning home.
I may state here that at the end of the term half the pupils left Smith Institute, and Socrates Smith lamented too late the folly that had made him and his school unpopular.
CHAPTER XXVI. HECTOR’S ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK
Mr. Crabb and Hector were sitting side by side in a railroad car, speeding away from Smith Institute. In the heart of each was a feeling of relief, which increased as each minute carried them farther away from the school.
“Hector,” said the usher, looking younger and happier than his pupil had ever known him, “I feel like a free man now. It is a feeling that I have not had since I first set foot in Smith Institute.”
“I think you will lead a happier life in New York, Mr. Crabb.”
“I am sure of it. Thanks to your considerate kindness, I shall for the first time earn an ample salary, and even be able to lay up money. Is my future pupil about your age?”
“He is a year younger.”
“Where did you make his acquaintance?”
“At Saratoga, My father and I spent two months at Congress Hall two summers ago, and as Walter’s family were also there, we naturally got to be friends. He is a capital fellow, and you will be sure to like him.”
“I am ready to like him after reading that letter he wrote you. Is he fond of study?”
“That is his weak point,” said Hector, laughing. “Walter was never cut out for a scholar. I don’t mean, of course, that he hasn’t fair capacity, but his taste doesn’t lie that way. However, he won’t give you any trouble, only you won’t succeed as well as you may wish in pushing him on.”
“All boys are not cut out for scholars,” said the usher. “Now you, Hector, would do excellently, and might hope to make a very successful professional man.”
Hector shook his head.
“I must look to a different career,” he said. “I am to be the architect of my own fortune, you know.”
“What are your plans, Hector?” asked the usher.
“I will consult with Mr. Boss, Walter’s father. By the way, he knows nothing of the change in my circumstances. He supposes me to be the heir to the Roscoe estate.”
“Trouble has come upon you early, Hector. Should you need help hereafter, you must remember that I am earning a good salary and—”
“Thank you, Mr. Crabb,” gratefully, “but you will need all you earn. I don’t look upon my loss of fortune as a trouble. I think it will make me more manly and self-reliant, and stimulate me to exertion. I have a fair education, and I am sure I can earn my living in some honest way.”
“If that is your spirit, Hector, I am sure you will succeed. You are young and hopeful. I am too much inclined to despond. I have always been timid about the future. It is a matter of temperament.”
It was early in the afternoon when they reached New York. As they emerged from the depot a bright-faced boy came up eagerly and greeted them.
“How are you, Hector?” he said. “You see, I came to meet you. I have been longing to have you come.”
“I am just as glad to see you, Walter,” said Hector, heartily. “Mr. Crabb, here is your future pupil, Walter Boss.”
“I hope we may soon be friends, Walter,” said the usher, attracted by the bright, sunny face of the boy.
Walter gave the usher his hand.
“I hope so, too,” he said, smiling. “I’ll try not to worry you any more than I can help.”
“I have no misgivings,” said Mr. Crabb, as he mentally contrasted his new pupil with Jim Smith, and two or three others at the institute, who had been a frequent source of trouble and annoyance.
“Here is the carriage,” said Walter, pointing out a plain but handsome carriage waiting outside. “Bundle in, both of you! I beg your pardon, Mr. Crabb, for my familiarity. That was intended for Hector.”
“I am ready to be classed with Hector,” said Mr. Crabb.
“I am glad to hear you say so. I was afraid you would be stiff and dignified.”
“I think I shall take my cue from you.”
“Oh, my rule is, go as you please. Edward, drive home!”
The house occupied by Mr. Boss was a fine brown-stone dwelling on Forty-second Street. Arrived there, Mr. Crabb was shown into a spacious chamber, on the third floor, furnished with a luxury to which the poor usher was quite unaccustomed.
“Now, Hector, you can have a room to yourself, or you may share my den,” said Walter.
“I would rather share the den,” said Hector.
“That’s what I hoped. You see, we shall have ever so much to say to each other. We haven’t seen each other for over a year.”
A slight shade of gravity overspread Hector’s face. Since he had met his friend, his father had died, and he had been reduced from the heir of wealth to a penniless orphan. Of this last change Walter knew nothing, but Hector did not mean long to leave him in ignorance.
At dinner the two newcomers saw Mr. Ross, from whom they received a friendly welcome. The usher was put at his ease at once.
“I hope you’ll get along with my boy,” said the bluff city merchant. “Of one thing you may be assured, your scholarship won’t be severely taxed in educating him. Walter is a pretty good boy, but he isn’t a prodigy of learning.”
“I may be some day, father,” said Walter, “with Mr. Crabb’s help.”
“I take it Mr. Crabb isn’t able to perform miracles,” said Mr. Ross, good-humoredly. “No, Mr. Crabb, I shan’t expect too much of you. Get your pupil on moderately fast, and I shall be satisfied. I am glad, Hector, that you were able to pay Walter a visit at this time.”
“So am I, sir.”
“I thought you might not be able to leave your studies.”
“I have given up study, sir.”
“I am surprised at that, Hector. I thought you contemplated going to college.”
“So I did, sir, but circumstances have changed my plans.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, sir; I will explain after dinner, and will ask your advice.”
Mr. Ross dropped the subject, and after dinner led the way to the library, where he sank into an armchair, and, breathing a sigh of satisfaction, said: “This, Mr. Crabb, is the most enjoyable part of the twenty-four hours for me. I dismiss business cares and perplexities, and read my evening paper, or some new book, in comfort.”
As the usher looked about him and saw costly books, engravings, furniture and pictures, he could well understand that in such surroundings the merchant could take solid comfort. It was a most agreeable contrast to the plain and poverty-stricken room at Smith Institute, where the boys pursued their evening studies under his superintendence.
“Well, Hector, so you don’t propose to go back to school,” said the merchant. “Isn’t that rather a sudden resolution?”
“Yes, sir; but, as I said, circumstances have changed.”
“What circumstances? Because you are rich, you don’t think you ought to be idle, I hope?”
“Oh, no, sir. It is because I have discovered that I am not rich.”
“Not rich! I always understood that your father left a large estate,” said Mr. Ross, in surprise.
“So he did, sir.”
“Didn’t it descend to you?”
“I thought so till recently.”
“Why don’t you think so now?”
In answer, Hector told the story of the revelation made to him by Allan Roscoe, after his father’s death.
“You see, therefore,” he concluded, “that I am penniless, and a dependent upon Mr. Allan Roscoe’s generosity.”
“This is a most extraordinary story!” said the merchant, after a pause.
“Yes, sir; it changes my whole future.”
“I suppose Mr. Allan Roscoe is the beneficiary, and the estate goes to him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did your father—the late Mr. Roscoe—ever hint to you anything which could lead you to suspect that you were not his own, but an adopted son?”
“Never, Mr. Ross,” answered Hector, with emphasis.
“Did he continue to treat you with affection.”
“Always. Nothing in his manner ever would have led me to imagine that I was not his own son.”
“He left no will?”
“No, sir.”
“What are your plans?”
“I do not wish to remain dependent upon Allan Roscoe. I should like to obtain a situation of some kind in the city, if I can.”
“I can probably serve you, then, after a while. For the present, stay here as Walter’s companion.”
“Thank you, sir; I should like nothing better.”
CHAPTER XXVII. LARRY DEANE
Not altogether in accordance with his inclinations, Walter was set to work at his studies immediately under the direction of Mr. Crabb. He asked his father for a week’s vacation to go about the city with Hector, but his father answered in the negative.
“You are too far behind in your studies, Walter,” he said. “You are two years, at least, behind Hector, and cannot spare the time as well as he.”
“Hector will have to go round alone,” objected Walter.
“It will do him no harm to get acquainted with the different parts of the city, as that will be a kind of knowledge he may require if he should obtain a situation.”
“I shan’t see much of him.”
“Oh, yes, you will; Mr. Crabb will not make you study all day. Mr. Crabb, you may work with Walter from nine to one. This, with perhaps an hour or more devoted to study in the afternoon or evening, will enable him to make fair progress.”
This arrangement struck Walter favorably, as he could, whenever he desired it, spend the whole afternoon with Hector.
Hector found it very pleasant to act upon the suggestion made by Mr. Ross. He had visited the city of New York at different times, but had never enjoyed the opportunity of exploring it by himself. His first visit was made to Central Park, where he mingled with the crowds wandering about in search of pleasure.
He made his way to the lake, and took passage in one of the skiffs which, in charge of a skilled oarsman, makes a tour of the pretty and picturesque sheet of water.
The second morning he turned his steps southward, and walked down Broadway. It was a leisurely walk, for he had no scruple in stopping wherever he saw anything in the streets or in the shop windows that seemed to him worthy of attention. About the corner of Canal Street he was very much surprised at a boy who was on his knees, blacking the boots of an elderly gentleman—a boy whom he recognized at once as the son of a man who had for years been in his father’s employ as gardener at Castle Roscoe.
“What brings him here?” thought Hector, much surprised.
“Larry Deane!” he said, as the boy finished his job, and rose from his feet to receive his pay.
“Hector Roscoe!” exclaimed Larry, not much less surprised.
“What brings you here, and what has reduced you to such work?” inquired Hector.
Larry Deane was a boy of about Hector’s age. He was a healthy-looking country lad, looking like many another farmer’s son, fresh from the country. He had not yet acquired that sharp, keen look which characterizes, in most cases, the New York boy who has spent all his life in the streets.
“I can answer both your questions with the same word, Master Hector,” said Larry, as a sober look swept over his broad, honest face.
“Don’t call me master, Larry. We are equals here. But what is that word?”
“That word is trouble,’” answered the bootblack.
“Come with me into this side street,” said Hector, leading the way into Howard Street. “You have a story to tell, and I want to hear it.”
“Yes, I have a story to tell.”
“I hope your father and mother are well,” said Hector, interrupting him.
“Yes, they are well in health, but they are in trouble, as I told you.”
“What is the trouble?”
“It all comes of Mr. Allan Roscoe,” answered Larry, “and his son, Guy.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“I was walking in the fields one day,” said Larry, “when Guy came out and began to order me round, and call me a clodhopper and other unlikely names, which I didn’t enjoy. Finally he pulled off my hat, and when I put it back on my head, he pulled it off again. Finally I found the only way to do was to give him as good as he sent. So I pulled off his hat and threw it up in a tree. He became very angry, and ordered me to go up after it. I wouldn’t do it, but walked away. The next day my father was summoned to the house, where Mr. Allan Roscoe complained of me for insulting his son. He asked my father to thrash me, and when father refused, he discharged him from his employment. A day or two afterward a new gardener came to Roscoe Castle, and father understood that there was no chance of his being taken back.”
“That was very mean in Mr. Roscoe,” said Hector, indignantly.
“Yes, so it was; but father couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t get a new place, for it wasn’t the right time of year, and Mr. Roscoe said he wouldn’t give him a recommendation. Well, we had very little money in the house, for mother has been sick of late years, and all father’s extra earnings went to pay for medicines and the doctor’s bill. So one day I told father I would come to New York and see if I couldn’t find something to do.”
“I think you did the right thing, Larry,” said Hector, approvingly. “It was your duty to help your father if you could.”
“I can’t help him much,” answered Larry.
“What made you take up this business, Larry?”
“I couldn’t get anything else to do, besides, this pays better than working in a store or office.”
“How—much can you earn at it?”
“Six or seven dollars a week.”
“I should think it would require all that to support you.”
“It would if I went to a boarding house, but I can’t afford that.”
“Where do you live?”
“At the Newsboys’ Lodging House.”
“How much does that cost you?”
“For eighteen cents a day I get supper, lodging and breakfast. In the middle of the day I go to a cheap restaurant.”
“Then you are able to save something?”
“Yes; last week I sent home three dollars, the week before two dollars and a half.”
“Why, that is doing famously. You are a good boy, Larry.”
“Thank you, Hector; but, though it is doing very well for me, it isn’t as much as they need at home. Besides, I can’t keep it up, as, after a while, I shall need to buy some new clothes. If your father had been alive, my father would never have lost his place. Master Hector, won’t you use your influence with your uncle to have him taken back?”
Hector felt keenly how powerless he was in the matter. He looked grave, as he answered:
“Larry, you may be sure that I would do all in my power to have your father restored to the position from which he never should have been removed; but I fear I can do nothing.”
“Won’t you write to Mr. Roscoe?” pleaded Larry, who, of course, did not understand why Hector was powerless.
“Yes, I will write to him, but I am sorry to say that I have very little influence with Mr. Roscoe.”
“That is strange,” said Larry; “and you the owner of the estate.”
Hector did not care to explain to Larry just how matters stood, so he only said:
“I can’t explain to you what seems strange to you, Larry, but I may be able to do so some time. I will certainly write to Mr. Roscoe, as you desire; but you must not build any hopes upon it. Meanwhile, will you accept this from me, and send it to your father?”
As he spoke, he drew from his pocketbook a five-dollar bill and handed it to his humble friend.
Larry would not have accepted it had he known that Hector was nearly as poor as himself, but, supposing him to be the heir of a large and rich estate, he felt no hesitation.
“Thank you very much, Hector,” he said; “you had always a kind heart. This money will do my father very much good. I will send it to him to-day.”
“Do you generally stand here, Larry?” asked Hector.
“Yes.”
“Then I will take pains to see you again.”
“Shall you stay long in the city, Master Hector?”
“Not Master Hector.”
“Then Hector, if you don’t mind.”
“I shall be here for the present—I don’t know how long.”
“Then let me black your boots for nothing every time you come by—I want to do something for you.”
“Thank you, Larry; but I don’t like to have a friend perform such a service. Remember me to your father when you write.”
“I wish I could do something for Larry,” said Hector, to himself, as he walked away. “As it is, I stand in need of help myself.”
He was to make a friend that day under rather unusual circumstances.